The Unexpected
by significationary
Summary: Sequel to I Can Still Do This. Snow orchestrates a Quarter Quell that is sure to send a message - just maybe not the message he intended. Katniss has to learn to work with new allies and without some she'd counted on. Finnick/Annie Cato/Katniss
1. Chapter 1

"Expect the unexpected," Haymitch says for what must be the millionth time. I'm getting dressed for the reaping. "Snow's obviously targeting you. He's not going to give you anything you could prepare for." We're separated by a privacy screen, so I can't see him but I don't need to. I can hear the gruff concern in his voice.

"But what about Cato?" I can't stop myself from asking.

For a second, Haymitch softens. "You can't predict anything there either, sweetheart. You know that," he says.

He's right – I do know that. About two months after we got back from the tour, he broke up with me. I still don't understand why. Everything was going great; we split our time between his district and mine. Silas stayed glued to my side whenever I was in 2. When I wasn't, either he came with me or I called him every few days.

Those phone calls were a new level of torture. Half the time he sounded scared, only giving me one-word answers, because I'm pretty sure his parents were in the room. The other half, he was trying to pretend he was okay so I wouldn't worry. He could never disguise his relief when he saw me again, though. I took to carrying a flask of magic water with me, since he was so often hurt.

Cato would always look at me in an especially guilty way, like he expected me to be mad at him for not doing more. "I kind of wish I didn't care still," he said once. "It'd be easier." And I held him tightly that night while he acted like he was asleep. Things like that made it a complete surprise when he broke up with me.

Even that phrase isn't exactly right, because it was more than that. It's not like he just said he didn't want to be whatever we were, a couple or something. He told me he never wanted to see me again. That's a world away from the first thing. I didn't even know what to say. Didn't get the chance to say anything, actually, because he just said it and walked away. I was practically sleep walking after that.

Somehow I made it to a back room in the training center. I just kept shooting the same target, over and over until there wasn't any room left without an arrow. But I kept shooting, splitting other arrows to fit in the new ones.

I didn't know when I would stop, if I could stop. Then I noticed Silas was watching, looking closely at me with concern. I guess he saw something in my eyes, because he came towards me hesitantly. And then he hugged me. Somehow, that was the most comforting thing that could happen right then, and I loved him even more for it.

I tried to talk, to explain what had happen and why it was so horrible, but he didn't need me to. "He told me," he said. I wish I'd had the thought to ask him what he meant, to explain, because there was more behind that statement. But I was too shattered to do anything but hold him close and grit my teeth as I tried not to cry.

"Does this mean you're not coming back again?" he asked after a long time. Thankfully, I could hear the fear in that, so I had some idea of what to say.

"No, of course I will. They can't stop me from doing that. But I don't know if you can come to twelve any more," I said, forcing myself to think through this clearly. "If your brother isn't with you, that might make too many people talk."

"That's okay," he said. "I understand."

For one second, I let myself be weak enough to ask him just one question. "Do you… do you know why he did that? Was it something I did?"

"No. The trainers… he's been doing more training," he finally said. "Not like before, with the poison, I don't think, but he's changing again."

"Why didn't I see that?"

"Because it happened in the past week or something. He started being more like he was before the games."

"Did he hurt you?" I said quietly, feeling dread heavy in the pit of my stomach.

Silas kind of shrugs. "He wasn't him. Do you want to stay with us tonight?"

"No, that's… I should probably get home," I said, letting go of him. "I need… time. Some time to think about everything. I'll come back, though."

Somehow he understood that, nodding too wisely for someone of his age. I left that night, curling up in a chair and not moving for the whole train ride. By the time I got back to twelve, my emotions were under control. I haven't felt much of anything since that.

Haymitch was waiting for me at the train platform back home; I guess word had gotten around. He was worried about me, I could tell, but he wouldn't admit it. The only way his worry showed was in his constant advice to me. Now, several months later, he still hasn't stopped.

"Until you know how his mind is, you've gotta assume you're going into this alone," he lectures as we walk to the town square. For me, the reaping is just a formality, but one the Capitol insists on.

"Alone," I repeat, not really paying attention.

"Well, not completely. Chaff will be in the games, he'll be on your side. I've got a few other allies in mind, but Chaff for sure," Haymitch says.

"Other allies?" I frown, because I haven't even considered the fact that other victors might want to form any alliance with me. I guess I thought they already knew each other, that their roles would be already defined and I'd be left out.

"Yeah. The only victors who want you straight-up dead would probably be the Careers, and you lucked out in that way, because the Careers this year are Cato, who's probably not as vicious as the others from 2, Gloss, who's a bit of a wild card, I guess, and Annie. That poor girl is absolutely broken."

"Annie?" I frown.

"Annie Cresta," he says, lowering his voice as we start to approach the crowd. "She wasn't meant to be a tribute, she's too gentle. Since her games, she's never been all there."

"You better not be expecting me to kill her," I say, before he can get any further.

"Did I say that?" he snaps. "Listen to what's actually being said, here. My point is that she won't kill you, and that's the important part. But that might not even be an issue."

"Mysterious." I wrinkle my nose at him, annoyed.

"Let's just get through the reaping," he says, putting one hand on my back. "Let's do that."

I nod, and we go up to our spots on stage. Anxiously, I look through the crowd, find Gale and Ryan in the crowd and lock eyes with each of them, then Prim, who's up at the front with the other younger kids. I try to communicate with them, to tell them it's going to be okay, but all they are is worried for me. I guess that makes sense; I'm the only one who's guaranteed to be in these games.

There's two reaping bowls this time. One has a single sleep of paper in the bottom. The other is twice as full as usual. Effie makes her usual speech, shows the video, but I'm not paying attention. Haymitch is making faces at funny points, mocking the whole spectacle, and I love it.

Effie picks from my bowl first, unsurprisingly drawing my name. I don't know what I'm supposed to act like, so I don't act like anything. I stand next to her. It's not hard to keep my face expressionless, because I don't really feel anything inside.

With no nervousness for myself, though, that just gives me more time to be scared that someone I love will get picked. Luckily, I don't love very many people.

Effie picks a name out of the bowl. After the first syllable, when I'm sure the three people I care most about are safe, I stop paying attention again. A boy is chosen, dark-haired and grey-eyed like most of us from the Seam. I recognize him just a little; I think he's in the year beneath mine. His family is one of the poorer ones, who work extra hours to put food on the table.

We have to shake hands, and he looks into my eyes with the same hard stare I remember giving Peeta. Then Effie introduces us. Again, just like they did last year, the entire crowd doesn't clap. The three-fingered salute is repeated, from everyone to me, including the boy who was just reaped. And then Gale starts the chant, calling for me to give a speech.

At first, Effie tries to laugh off the chanting, trying to quiet the crowd. When it become clear they won't be silenced, she reluctantly lets me up to the microphone, giving a stern disclaimer that this will be short.

"District twelve," I begin. My voice echoes across the square, amplified. "Thank you for your support. I'm going to do my best to get as many people out alive as possible." Even if those people aren't me. "I don't want this to be the last time I see my home." That unexpectedly gets some emotion out of me; I have to pause so I sound strong when I continue. "This isn't right. It's not fair. But I'll play their game again. And I'll win again."

They applaud then, even though the Peacekeepers draw closer preventatively. I find Gale in the crowd, looking at me proudly, and then they whisk me away, practically dragging me to the train. I guess that was too much rebellion for them, but at this point, I don't care. I can give a good speech; that doesn't mean I believe it.

My mother and Prim are the first ones to visit me and say goodbye. There aren't any tears like last time. We've had months to prepare. "I love you," I say to Prim, giving her one last hug. "More than anything."

"Try to win," she says. "You did it once, you can do it again, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," I nod.

She presses the mockingjay pin in my hand – recently, I lost track of its whereabouts, but she must've had it. It's shiny, almost glowing. "To keep you safe again," she says.

If I stay here with her any longer, I'll fall to pieces, so I nod and stand up. I don't have to tell my mother what to do this time, but I do anyways. "You take care of her."

Mom nods, holds me close for a second. "I love you," she says. "And I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Nobody ever thought this would happen twice."

"You've kept up your shooting," she says. "And now you can throw knives, right? You'll be able to work with that."

She wants me to reassure her that I'll survive. What I can't tell her is that I'll be in against people who've had decades to perfect their skills, think through strategies on the paranoid off-chance that they'd be back in there. And I know they've done that, because it's what I've done, late at night. So I can't reassure her. "Yeah," I say. "Of course."

Peacekeepers pull them out after that, and then Gale comes in. The hug he gives me isn't as desperate as the one a year ago, when the idea that I might die came as a surprise. "You're smart," he tells me. "And you know how to do this, okay? You're fresh."

"Thanks," I mumble, holding onto him tightly. "Take care of them again, please."

"You never had to ask." We separate and he hesitates before his next words. "Don't be too stupid for him. Don't let him kill you."

"I won't," I shake my head.

He doesn't seem too comforted by that, though. I guess I don't blame him. I'm not very convincing, even to myself.

The Mellarks come in next, minus the mother. Mr. Mellark passes me a white bag, and ignoring the echo of déjà vu in my mind, I look inside. Not cookies this time, but cheese rolls. "Thank you," I say, tears pricking at the back of my eyes.

"Your sister made those," he says gruffly, and before I can answer, he leaves the room.

Edan stands there uncomfortably, hands in his pockets, while I hug Ryan and try to re-forget how exactly like his brother he is but still completely different. He's similar enough to make me miss Peeta, but not enough to fill any of the emptiness left behind. Somehow, that's a void only Cato was able to fill.

"The one good thing that's come out of this is that I got to know you," Ryan says after a long silence. "You're… you're not like anyone else here. You don't give up."

I suppress a pang of guilt, because I'm not sure if that's true anymore. "Thanks," I say, forcing a smile. "I'm glad I know you, too."

Then Edan hugs me. It's completely different than the hug from either of his brothers, rougher, more awkward. And he doesn't say anything afterward. When I look at him strangely, he rolls his eyes dramatically. "What, you want some kind of speech like that from me?" he says. "No way. Try not to die, I guess."

Fair enough. I nod, and he does that awkward pat on the back thing that a lot of guys do.

"'Kay. Bye," he says, and leaves. Ryan lingers for a second to give me another hug. "If anyone from here could do this, you can," he says. "And I've heard things, about Robin. He's a good fighter. I don't think you have to worry about him."

It didn't occur to me to be worried, and that's deeply concerning. "Okay," I say, putting on a brave face. "I'll see you in a few weeks."

That makes him smile a little. "Right, of course," he says, and then he has to leave.

Peacemakers escort the boy and me to the train. He doesn't shed a single tear, which is impressive of him, and of course I don't either. I don't talk to him, though. I won't give the cameras filming us that satisfaction.

Haymitch is waiting for us in the train, already trashed, all the progress made by the Mellark boys erased in less than an hour. "What are you doing?" I demand of him as soon as the doors shut and we're alone.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He selects a bottle from the table in front of him and takes a swig from it, even though the pinkish contents don't look very good. "Forgetting my problems," he slurs to himself, raising his bottle in what might be a toast.

"I'm not gonna die. I'm experienced," I say, going to sit next to him. "And definitely not if you can actually stay coherent enough to get sponsors."

"You don't believe that," he shakes his head. "The not dying part. But you should. And I'm not worried about losing you." Lie. "It's _him_." He gestures wildly in the general direction of the boy. "Whatever his name is."

"Robin," the boy says. "And I'm not gonna die, either."

"Now, _him_ I believe," Haymitch points at him. "You can fight, kid?"

"I can hunt. With a slingshot. And I can use an axe," Robin says, trying to sound brave.

Haymitch nods. "Alright. Axe translates to sword pretty quick. Slingshots are easy to make. You've got a better than decent chance against the other new kids. Hope you're only fighting against them."

"We still don't know that?" I ask. Aside from his initial announcement, President Snow has refused to give more information about the Quarter Quell, like what he meant when he said two separate games.

"Nope. Snow's doing everything he can to get you off balance." He takes another drink. "And it's going to work. I'll tell you that right now."

"Why?" I wrinkle my nose, feeling automatically rebellious. Just because I may have given up doesn't mean he gets to say I'm doomed.

"Because he's done this his whole life and you're a sixteen year old girl who didn't know anything outside of your district until you left it to kill people. Look. Don't stress about it. Have a drink. Both of you," he says, motioning at Robin.

"No thanks," Robin says stiffly. I can imagine his confusion. Actually, I don't have to. I've felt it. It's like Haymitch almost tries to push away us kids at first.

"No, Haymitch. We need to plan. Even if we can't predict, we can prepare," I say firmly.

"Oh. So you're not out of this?" he says, raising his eyebrows. He's caught me again, as usual. I should've seen that coming. It's just like him, to trap me into caring. For all his alcohol, he's actually really smart, and I kind of hate that.

"Haymitch…" I stall.

"No. Don't use that tone on me," he says sternly. "You've lost your fight since that kid called it quits with you. Now either you're going to get your act together and get your head in the game, or you're going to stop wasting my time so I can focus on the kid with a chance at surviving more than three seconds."

"Wait, you think I have a chance?" Robin asks, coming to stand in front of us. "Really?"

"More than the other kids the past couple of years. More than her, if she's going to keep being all fatalist and shit." With another pull, he drains the rest of the booze, dropping the heavy crystal bottle on the ground.

"I'm not being fatalist," I protest.

"You want to die. Blaze of glory style. I mean, maybe not when you think about Prim and Gale, those Mellark boys. But you sure as hell don't want to win." He opens another bottle and takes a drink. "If you got out, you could settle down with Gale. You know that?"

"No, I couldn't," I shake my head immediately. "No. What if Cato remembers after that? It would break his…" I don't know if he has a heart. "Him. We'd lose him."

"You already have."

"Not forever," I say, because I have to believe that. He can't be gone forever. No.

"Maybe," Haymitch says stubbornly. "You've gotta accept that, and learn to live without."

"Yeah? Well maybe I can't," I blurt out in a moment of unexpected honesty. "What about that? What do I do when that's true?"

"When?"

"Yeah. When."

He takes a second to think about that. "Then you get Gale."

"I don't think I do. What we've said… I can't take that back. And I won't, because I meant it. Is that really your advice, though? Another guy?" I say, attacking so I don't crumble.

Haymitch gracefully concedes that point to me. "Alright. Fair. But living for the other people in your life doesn't seem to be cutting it for you. Am I wrong?" He isn't. "That boy isn't the only part of your life that matters."

"I know."

"Do you? Besides being… in love with him or whatever, what does he give you?"

I hesitate at that, because I've never thought of it like that.

"Look, you don't have to answer that now. But you've got to figure out if you're in this to win. This kid sure as hell is," he says, jerking his thumb at Robin. "Right?"

Robin nods. "My family needs me."

"Listen to that. It's like last year all over again." Haymitch shakes his head and takes another deep pull from the bottle. "Just what I need."

"So how do I do it?" Robin asks after a second.

"Do what?"

"Survive. Win."

"Try not to die." Haymitch's voice is rough, and he leaves for a while right after that.

I don't really want to talk to Robin – the last thing I need is to get involved with another person in these games – so I turn on the reapings in the other districts. Only a few reapings stick out in my mind: the one-armed man from eleven, an odd-looking man with glasses from three, Cato's expressionless face when his sister's name is called after his.

That takes me by surprise. There's no way that could be anything but a move from Snow, showing exactly how powerful he is. And I realize that maybe Cato's sister is going to kill him, or me. Or maybe we'll kill her. Even more worrisome is the lack of horror I feel.

And then, on the opposite end of the spectrum, there's a bronze boy volunteering for the delicate girl Haymitch told me about. Annie. It takes a second to realize who the boy is. It's Finnick Odair, living legend. He won the 65th games when he was only fourteen, surviving because of three main reasons: first, he was a Career, which set him ahead from the start. Secondly, he's gorgeous – sea green eyes, tan, tall and athletic. Third, in the most extravagant gesture I've heard of, he got a trident from his sponsors. The games were over in days after that. The citizens of the Capitol have been drooling over him ever since.

They couldn't really touch him for the first year or two. The minute he turned sixteen, though, he began being courted by the wealthy women who had the time and money to make believe he loved them back. I've never thought that situation was right. Something always seemed off, but now that I know about Snow's arrangements with some of the victors, that possibility has been lurking in the back of my mind.

I mean, he never stays with the women more than a few days, and once he leaves, he never comes back. That right there is suspicious. So is the way he jumped up to volunteer for Annie. She's beautiful in a haunting way, just as much as he's blatantly handsome. There's something going on there.

Well. Maybe. I don't know if I can trust my instincts any more, if I didn't see that whole situation with Cato coming, missed the whole Gale being in love with me thing. I'm probably reading into this too much. I don't know either of them. And Finnick is notoriously enigmatic. Nobody knows what he's thinking, least of all me.

Haymitch has wandered back in by then, observing the reaping in District 4 with mild interest. "Interesting," he says. "Very interesting."

"Why's that?" I ask.

"He knew she was going to be reaped. He had to have planned that. Not that he'll have any problems in the arena." Haymitch plops down heavily into a seat. "Stick with him, if you can. If he'll have you."

"Is that advice to him, me who wants to win, or me who doesn't know?"

"All three."

"I'll keep that in mind."


	2. Chapter 2

I'm not ashamed to admit that I pretty much spend the rest of the train ride curled up on the couch, eating. Robin seems unsure of what to do, if he should look at me or talk to me. He ends up sitting on the opposite end of the couch, watching the reapings with me but not really _with_ me. Haymitch and him exchange a few words, but Haymitch is too drunk, feels too guilty, and Robin is too nervous and shy.

When we get to the Capitol, there's no Peeta playing the crowd. Just the three of us, trying to ignore them. We go straight from the train into the building where we're going to get beautified and dressed.

"What are they going to do?" Robin asks me, very quiet.

"Make you look perfect. You'll be okay, it won't hurt," I say. I wish someone said that to me last year. "See you after."

That makes him feel a little better, and he goes with his styling team. It used to be Peeta's styling team, but I don't let myself dwell on that. Not important.

Venia comes to get me, and then they begin the process. It takes far less time, since they've been keeping my appearance up during the year, only a day or so for me to be their definition of flawless. Again, I refuse to let them take the scar off my face, but the rest are erased.

Once I'm done, they take me to a sterile room where I wait for Cinna. He comes in almost right away, looking reassuringly the same as before. "I wish I could say it's nice to see you again, but circumstances won't allow that," he says.

"Yeah, I understand," I say. "So what am I wearing this time?"

He shows me. First, my team does my hair and makeup, heavy black eye shadow and a bit of highlighting on my scars. Then he dresses me, fitting the thick jumpsuit around me carefully. When he presses a button on his bracelet, the suit flickers to life, glowing with all the dull brilliance of an ember, throwing shadows on my face. I look like a coal, hot to the touch and dangerous.

"Now in that chariot, I want you to look straight ahead. Ignore the crowd," Cinna says. "Don't even grace them with your attention."

"That I can do."

Cinna smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder. "You can do anything, if you try." It would sound too cheesy to bear, except that he really means it.

"Thanks," I say, then change the subject. "So am I going to sit around in this for a few days or what?"

He shakes his head. "They're speeding up the process this year. In a big hurry to get rid of someone." Doesn't say me, but he means it.

"So the ride through the Circle…"

"We need to get you to the chariots," he says.

Robin's there, in a similar outfit, but his jumpsuit glows with lighter colors, little flames licking over him. When he sees me, he looks a little relieved, but he doesn't speak to me, and I'm glad. I don't want to talk to him, and the other tributes aren't an option. I haven't been around long enough to know them. So I pet the horses and try to look unobtrusive.

I hear crunching before I know anyone's next to me. When I turn to look, Finnick Odair's famous green eyes are inches from mine. He pops a sugar cube into his mouth and leans against my horse. "Hey, Katniss," he says, casually friendly.

"Hi, Finnick," I say. I'm doing my best to match his tone, but even I am at least partially secretly thrilled to be speaking to him. Though I must admit, it's slightly uncomfortable to be standing next to someone who's essentially naked. His only clothing is a gold net, knotted around his groin so he's technically decent but really not at all. I guess his designer figured it was best if the Capitol got what they wanted, one last time, in case he doesn't make it out alive.

"Want a sugar cube?" he says, holding out a handful of them. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I… well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."

"No thanks. I don't think eating right now would be a good decision."

"Don't say you're worried about looking good, because let me tell you, you don't need to be," he says with earnestness that I can't decipher. It might be real, it might not. Probably not, considering who I'm speaking to.

"No," I say. "I just think throwing up in a chariot is frowned upon."

"Nerves?" He looks at me intensely. "No, not nerves. You've done this before. Then what?"

"That's personal."

"Oh." He steps back for a second, almost like he's reconsidering me. "A secret?" he says.

"I guess."

"I like secrets. You gonna tell me yours, Girl on Fire?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "I bet we could arrange a trade."

Is this honestly happening? Is Finnick Odair flirting with me? This is maybe the one thing in the world that I am the least prepared for. "I don't think I want anything you'd want to trade," I say. "But I'm flattered."

He narrows his eyes a bit. "Really."

"Really. I'm kind of… involved already."

"Involved," he repeats, and I know it was a mistake to mention that, because now he's interested. "That boy from two? I thought you two moved on."

"Yeah. That's the story." I'm not interested in explaining this to anyone, least of all him, so I leave it there.

Finnick leans in close to me and whispers a single word. "Snow?" All I can do is nod. He nods, eating another sugar cube thoughtfully. And then he flicks his eyes back up to me, almost cutting straight into me. "You love him?"

"I thought so."

"You gonna be able to kill him?"

I shake my head, first slowly, then faster. "No."

"You shouldn't say that. That makes you look weak. No one will want to help you."

He says these things conversationally, in a tone that is neither kind nor unkind, but it's enough to make me realize exactly how much I shouldn't have told him that. "Is that advice or a warning?" I say, barely keeping my calm.

"Oh, just some friendly advice, Katniss. From one rule-breaker to another."

I bite my lip, trying to decide exactly what I can or can't say to this beautiful boy, and then I decide I don't have anything to lose. "Actually friendly, or are you saying that because _you_ think that? Cuz I don't have the time to do cloak and dagger right now. Even with you."

That completely shocks him. He just kind of stares at me for several long seconds, and the world shrinks to the two of us. Then he drops the sugar cubes and reaches for me. I don't know what he wants me to do but I choose to take it, mostly out of curiosity; what does Finnick Odair's hand feel like?

Apparently that's the right thing to do. His hand tightens around mine, and I'm holding Finnick Odair's hand. It's warm, very dry, and callused, and he's looking at me with a strange look in his eyes. I think he's trying to be comforting. "Actually friendly," he says, and I believe him.

Haymitch walks up just then, giving a slightly surprised look to our connected hands. "What's going on here?" he says with interest.

"Making friends," I say.

"Yeah?" Haymitch looks to Finnick for his comment.

"Yep," is all he says, stepping closer to me and letting our hands drop so we almost look couple-y. Definitely friendly, at least. I think it's pretty safe to say that he likes me, which is more than I expected.

"How friendly?" Haymitch wants to know.

I look to Finnick. "I'd say between casually and pretty."

"Maybe even pretty damn," Finnick nods.

So now I'm bantering with him. This day is full of surprises.

Haymitch is intrigued and also already thinking. "You wanna mix things up a bit?" he asks me. "Up for a little scandal? Or are you too apathetic."

"Of course I'm up for it. But I thought we were going to play by the rules."

"Well, sweetheart, maybe it's time for a bit of rebellion," Haymitch shrugs, a dangerous gleam in his eye. "What about you, Odair?"

"What do you have in mind?" Finnick says. I'm beginning to think everything he says sounds at least a little flirtatious, if he means it to or not. Or maybe he means it to be. That's when I revise my thoughts to be that Finnick is an incomprehensible mystery.

"Let's mix up the pairs," Haymitch mutters. "7 through 11 are in, 6 is too drugged up to say no, and 3 was the one who gave me the idea."

"And you came to me last because?" I ask indignantly.

"Because you were making friends. So you in or not?"

I answer first. "I already said yes."

Finnick shrugs. "Me too. So what do we do?"

"You two are both in the first one. Odair, if you could talk to the Careers, that'd be best. They'll never listen to an old drunk bastard. I'll take care of the rest."

"But what about the little kids? I don't think that you're exactly the best choice for them," I point out. Haymitch does have a way with people but never little ones.

"Alright, so you come with me. We've got minutes, let's go."

I don't want to let go of Finnick's hand, but I do, quickly so it doesn't seem like I'm enamored of him. He heads towards the front of the line and I turn to follow Haymitch, which is when I notice Cato looking at me. He stops the instant I look back at him, but I still caught enough of his gaze to see the lack of emotion in it. It's disturbing, but I can't focus on that. I have to concentrate on this small rebellion that I'm capable of.

Haymitch has gathered the new kids in one place, near the back of the line. "Alright," he says. "This year, we're gonna mix things up. You're not going to be with your district partner. Some of you will be with each other, and the others will be with someone from a different place."

"Why would we do that?" the tall girl from one asks.

"To make an impression," I say, since Haymitch is hesitating. "It's the Quarter Quell. We should do something memorable. All eyes will be on us, since they won't know who's coming out next."

"I think we should do it," Sophia speaks up. I've been trying not to look her in the face – something like guilt and heartbreak keep me from being able to. That and the knowledge that if these games go badly, she'll be dead. But now she looks me straight in the eyes and smiles, with a cocky quirk of her mouth. It's still enough to make me miss her brother's smile that looks like that. "Let's shock them," she says.

She's the tipping point. The others follow her and pair off. In a cruel twist of fate, she and Robin end up together in a chariot, which I also don't think about. There's a lot of that going on today. And after they're all situated, I walk towards the front of the line.

Everybody's mixed up together, clashing colors everywhere, half-naked and fully clothed all combined in every combination. Finnick's lounging on the floor of our chariot, chewing on another handful of sugar cubes. When he sees me coming, he stands. "All systems go," I tell him, swinging up to sit next to him.

"Great." Again, he offers me sugar, and I shake my head. "Still nervous?"

"Yeah." I don't want to tell him _every_thing on this first day.

He leans over so his mouth is close to my ear and whispers, "There's something wrong with your boyfriend. Seriously, wrong."

It's a challenge to keep my voice steady. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Oh, so you'd rather I keep the fact that he can't hear your name without twitching to myself, then?" Finnick says, a hint of anger in his voice. "You just don't want to know?"

"Not at this particular minute, no," I snap. "Because I have to go out there and smile so everyone thinks I know what I'm doing, so Snow doesn't think he's won. So no, I don't think now was the best time to drop that information on me. My bad." I glare fiercely at a wall, trying to stay furious. Furious is better than broken.

"Smiles aren't hard to fake," Finnick argues, but he's considerably more subdued.

"Maybe not for you."

"Alright, fair enough," he says after a moment of consideration. Lazily, he drapes one arm over my shoulders, which I immediately shrug off. I can't be pissed at him if I'm thinking about how literally every part of him is perfect.

The fanfare starts then, loud horns that are obviously synthetic, like everything else around here. My suit starts glowing like an ember again, casting dull light on Finnick's golden skin. He raises his eyebrows, impressed, then gets to his feet in one lithe movement, pulling me up after him with one hand.

"If it's any consolation," he whispers as we move towards the doors, "the crowd's gonna think you look beautiful no matter what."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I think you do."

I have no time to respond to that, because we're in the City Circle now, faces being broadcast on a thousand different screens around us, millions more around the nation. The crowd goes almost silent when they see us, confused and worried. But then Finnick takes my hand again, holds it up triumphantly, just like Peeta did. The crowd goes wild, like he knew they would.

Things get nearly out of control when he throws the few remaining sugar cubes in his hand into the crowd with one of his winning smiles. The closest people are several hundred feet away, but he makes the shot effortlessly, even gracefully.

As much as I don't want it to be true, his flattery had exactly the effect he wanted; I find myself smiling without any conscious effort on my part. I don't usually act so empty-headed, especially about a complement that was pretty much blatant manipulation. But. It _was_ manipulation from Finnick.

Whenever I saw him on television, either in the replays of his games or in the tour footage, I told myself he wasn't my type of handsome. Stunning, breathtaking, and sensual? Absolutely. But not what I was attracted to. Now, though, talking to him and touching him, just looking at him in real life even, it's clear that he's even more beautiful than I thought. And while I still have no desire to be one of his next conquests, I can't say he has no effect on me. Just less than he has on everyone else.

As we draw closer to the balcony Snow is standing on, waiting to deliver his speech, we start to make out his expression. He's angry, of course, absolutely enraged. For a second, my knees weaken, but then I glance over at Finnick. He's staring down Snow, almost defiant in his posture and expression. I adopt a similar deadpan, looking at Snow's distant pale face and throwing thoughts at him.

_You can't break us. I'm stronger than that – than you. I will survive this_.

We come to a stop and the other chariots catch up to us, fanning out around Snow's balcony. I look around at the other mismatched pairs and realize – all of them are holding hands. Even Cato and the little girl from eleven. Even the pairs of boys.

Snow's speech is something about how proud we should be to prove ourselves again, the usual national pride bit, and then more talk about the symbolism of this year. Whatever. I'm not really listening, and I don't think many others are either. The actual unity down here is more than the fiction Snow's trying to make true.

For all the heartbreaking similarities, standing in a chariot with Finnick is very different than it was with Peeta. Although they both know how to play a crowd, it's in two completely different ways. Peeta was charming. Finnick is captivating.

They scream for him, a thousand voices with one intent. The sound makes me sick to my stomach, either from nerves or something closer to disgust, maybe pity. But Finnick's eating it up, or at least humoring them with well-practiced charm. He stands there confidently in his golden net, completely unfazed. Maybe that's what ten years of experience does.

On the ride back behind the huge doors, he raises our connected hands again, turning his smile on and spreading it out among his fans. Accidentally, I get a direct look at him, and I'm almost blinded. Behind the initial surface flash, though, his eyes are dangerously hard. "Told you they'd love you," he says.

"Not as much as they love you."

"Right." It takes considerable effort for him to put his smile back on after that. He does, though, nearly perfectly. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who sees the tension in his jaw and arms, because I'm the only one looking for it. Equally possible is me making it up, though. I don't know him enough to make the decision one way or another. I don't know him like that. I don't know anyone in this parade like that anymore.

Haymitch isn't waiting for me when the doors close, and my team is nowhere in sight. A wizened old lady comes up to Finnick, though, and hands him a pair of shorts, just the same color as his eyes, and a brown leather cord necklace, decorated with handmade beads. It looks out of place with his shiny appearance, but Finnick puts it on just the same.

"Was this your idea?" the old lady asks me.

"No. Haymitch," I say, watching Finnick stick a curved knife into his waistband and kind of jiggle it around a bit. I'm scared he'll cut himself, but all he does is pull out the severed ends of the golden net and drop the whole thing on the ground.

"Haymitch," the woman repeats. "Of course. Well, tell him Mags said to watch his back. I may not be quite ready to kill him for that stunt, but Brutus isn't happy."

From District 2. "I will," I nod.

"Don't exaggerate, Mags," Finnick sighs. "That was a smart move. Did you see Snow's face? Absolutely worth it."

"You'll pay for it later," Mags says in an undertone, but Finnick shrugs off that concern.

"Worth it," he says, then gives her a kiss on the forehead. "I've got this," he assures her. "Go enjoy the luxury. Relax."

"As if I could, with your life on the line," she grumbles, but she goes, and I'm standing next to a shirtless Finnick again.

"So," I say, at a loss. Even right next to him, I feel spectacularly alone, for no good reason.

"So," Finnick repeats, infinitely more flirty.

"I'm gonna… go to my room," I say hesitantly, and I kind of drift away from him, slipping through the crowd of kids and victors without touching any of them. I can't look at Sophia or Cato, so I go out of my way to avoid them, which means Finnick catches up to me easily while I wait for the elevator.

"Was it something I said?" he asks, still somehow charming in his confusion.

"No. I think I just need some space. This hasn't really sunk in."

"That's not true. You've had five months to let it sink in. Is it your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I have to correct him, and that breaks my heart a little more.

"But he is your problem."

"I don't need your thoughts on my issues," I say abruptly. "Okay? Listen, I am flattered that you think I deserve any amount of attention from you when you've got so many others that would reward you for it. But we're not friends. I don't know you. Don't act like I do."

The doors ping open and we get on. Before they close, a small hand appears between them. They open again and a half-naked girl from seven comes in. Her outfit was tree branches and leaves woven into the shortest dress possible. "Hey, Odair," she nods to him, then turns to me with her stony brown eyes. "If it isn't the Girl on Fire herself."

Something in her tone is predatory, but I don't back off. "And you are?"

"Johanna Mason," she announces. "Nice move, there. Playing the game early, I see."

"It wasn't her idea," Finnick says.

"So it was yours? Figures."

"Hey. You got a boost out of that, too," he points out. "If only that sweet act was repeatable."

Johanna won her games by acting weak for the first half and viciously cutting out the remaining competition. She's someone I've been worried about. Everything about her seems to be sharp. "So that boy from two," she says. "He's got absolutely huge hands. Have you noticed that?"

She's trying to screw with me. "Yeah, I have," I say tightly.

"You know what they say about big hands," she continues. "Am I right?"

I blush furiously, and Finnick shifts uncomfortably. "I don't… I don't know," I stammer.

"Then I might have to take the opportunity to find out."

"Don't," I say before I can stop myself.

"Johanna," Finnick sighs. "Stop. She hasn't done anything to you."

"Says the eternal favorite with no idea what he's talking about." The doors open on the seventh floor and she saunters out, already shedding her costume.

"Don't take her seriously," Finnick starts to say.

"I'll be fine," I cut him off. "A couple comments like that won't destroy me. Why didn't you get off at your floor?"

"To talk to you." He looks me straight in the eyes, and I'm forcibly reminded of another boy in this elevator with beautiful eyes. "I'm on your side."

"Thanks." I don't tell him that the only person I trust to be on my side is me. Everyone else is going to have to turn on me at some point. There will be no repeat performance of last year.

"Why are you so determined to be alone? If we were allies-"

"It'd be easier for a while and then one of us would die."

"That's kind of how this whole thing goes, yeah." He's exasperated. "Don't you want a shot at winning?"

And now I'm frustrated too. "I have no chance at winning. None. Snow organized this whole thing to kill me. And Cato. And if I'm gonna die, I'd rather it be right away. "The doors on the twelfth floor and I move towards them, but Finnick puts his arm out to stop me, holding the doors open with his other.

"What happened to you?" he asks, looking at me closely. "Why are you like this?"

"I'm just… tired. Tired of all the games. I don't want to have to constantly fight so people I love get to remember they love me. I don't know if I can fight like that my whole life. Okay?" I snap, ending harshly so the whole thing seems less pathetic.

"So Snow took his memory."

"Last time. This time, I don't know what he did. But that's it, alright? Go be Johanna's ally or something. She's a fighter."

"And you aren't?"

I can't answer him. Mostly because I don't know the answer, but also cuz he doesn't want to hear my best guess. Instead, I push past him into my rooms. He still stands there, though, so I say over my shoulder. "Johanna, Finnick. Or somebody else. Not me."

He goes, letting the doors close at last, and I turn to go to my bedroom only to find Haymitch coming out of the room that was Peeta's. "Tell me I didn't just hear you turn down Finnick Odair's help," he says.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello to you, too." I didn't notice it at first glance, but he looks terrible, more drunk than he's been for a while. His hand is bleeding. "What's wrong?"

"Don't get me started," he mutters and walks away. I follow him into the dining room, where he drains an entire bottle in under two minutes and burps loudly. "Snow talked to me afterward," he says. "Found me and tried to sniff out exactly how much of a part I had in that spectacle."

"Okay." I still fail to see the problem.

"And then," he says, words finally falling into slurs, "then he told me Cato's done. In the Capitol. He broke the deal off. You're back on the hook as soon as he can find you. So you've gotta get out of here. Don't tell me where."

"Can I change?" The weight of what he said is still sinking in, slowly, like a weight in quicksand. I'm trying to wrap my mind around the enormity of what happened.

"Sure, sweetheart, but hurry."

I hurry. The first clothes out of my closet are too big and all black, but I put them on, scrub off my makeup, and back off my boots. Then, I sneak out onto the roof, going to sit near the edge. It's changed since the last time I was up here. Now it's covered by a slab roof, supported by pillars and surrounded by a shallow wall. I could jump over it. That damn forcefield would stop any suicide or escape attempts, though, so I don't think about it.

I'm back to not thinking about a lot of things, actually. Things that'll kill me if I let myself remember them, like Peeta's words up here a year ago, or the way Cato would protect me from everything, how wrong it is that he's not going to protect me anymore. And then I can't think about selfish I am for wanting to escape this situation, even at his expense. That's when I start crying, because overlapping that is the fact that I can't escape now.

I let myself wallow in self-pity for a good amount of time, but then I have to pick up the pieces of myself. No matter what I feel like or say, I'm not completely done fighting. I try to make a plan, how I'll handle this. It's not like things can get worse – Snow should leave my family alone if I go along with it. At least there's that.

But then I accidentally remember how broken Cato was. If it hurt him that much, I don't stand a chance. Maybe the only reason this can't get any worse is because this is the absolute bottom.

My planning ultimately fails, for two reasons. First, I start to freak out too much to think straight, thoughts tangling in a matted mess of nostalgia and trepidation. Second, I have literally no idea what to expect. I know where babies come from; my mother's a healer. But when it comes down to the actual personal details, I know nothing. I don't _want_ to know anything yet. I certainly don't want to find out with some disgustingly rich Capitol citizen

So I'm in despair and grossed out, sad and angry, crying my eyes out as I lean against the shallow wall, and that is the exact moment Finnick makes his entrance. "Would you look at that," he says. "Great minds think alike after all."

"Finnick, I really just want to be alone right now," I say, torn between annoyed and sad.

"What a coincidence – me too." He twists open a thermos and takes a drink.

"How'd you even get up here?"

"I know all the tricks by now. Want some?" He offers the thermos to me.

"What is it?"

"They call it quila," he says, sitting down several feet away from me, facing me. "Guaranteed to make you forget any boyfriend troubles."

"I don't have boyfriend troubles."

"Then what's with the tears, princess?"

The nickname makes me frown, but somehow, from his lips, it's okay. "There's other types of problems," I say.

"Tell me about it." He takes another sip of quila.

"Wait. You have problems?" I wipe at my eyes, mostly drying them. "Besides like, which girl to pick next or where to put all those presents they give you?"

He remains calm. "That last one is a pretty big problem, actually, considering the fact that my whole family is dead. And I don't pick the girls. They pick me." Only at that last part does his tone get bitter.

That's when I remember my previous hunch, that Finnick might be exactly what Cato is – was – and I feel bad about what I said. Another reason to hate myself. "Right," I say. "Sorry. That was mean."

"It's fine," he shrugs. "Though you sure as hell need some quila. Even if you're not going to tell me anything. Just a sip," he promises.

So I do. It burns down my throat, simultaneously waking me up and making me feel sleepy. "Is this booze?" I narrow my eyes, handing it back to him.

"Partially." He looks out at the city, bright colored lights reflecting on his face. "So what problems do you need to forget so badly that you'll take alcohol from a stranger?"

"Don't say it like that."

"However I say it, it's what you're doing. C'mon. What's wrong?"

"Why do you want to know? I thought you said that made me look weak. And if I did, then no one would want to be on my team."

"I thought you didn't want a team," he points out. "And why is that, anyways?"

For some reason, I'm more inclined to tell him the truth. "If I make friends again, either we're going to watch each other die or one of us will kill the other. There is no third door for me this time. So would you stop being so damn likable? I already have to people in there that I can't kill. I don't another."

"Two?"

"Cato and Sophia. The girl from two. His sister." Of course he wouldn't know that. It was a gesture mean for me only, maybe Cato.

"Damn. Will he kill her?"

"I don't know." Not anymore.

"Will she kill him?"

I shake my head, repeat, "I don't know. Give me that." I take the thermos and force down another drink. It's easier this time, and things are starting to get fuzzy, soft around the edges. "Why do you like me?" I ask, handing it back to him.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

He sighs deeply. "You're a rebel. You're smart, and tough. You do what it takes. And you're beautiful."

"Stop that," I say, irritated.

"Stop what?"

"Stop flattering me so I do what you want. You did it on the chariot, too. Just say what you mean. Say what you want me to do."

"Y'know, I think you're the only girl in the world who'd be mad I called you beautiful," he says, amused.

I shrug. "I mean, thanks, but… and why does it matter that I'm a rebel? Rebel or not, I'm going to be the victor out there with the biggest target on my back. It's just… stupid."

"I never claimed to be smart. I said _you_ were. Although you're pretty stupid yourself. Rue, that suicide pact idea, trusting that Cato kid. Caring about people."

"Yeah," I say gloomily. "Don't remind me."

"But the point is that you've defied Snow and you got away with it. He hasn't been able to touch you." There's a hint of something like jealousy in his voice.

"Until now."

"What's that mean?"

Telling him can't possibly make things worse. And I have to tell someone, before the weight of this secret crushes me. "Snow wanted me to do him some… favors. Cato found out first, and made a deal to do them instead. But now that he doesn't like me, he… won't. And so I have to."

He doesn't need more of an explanation. His eyes get very sad, deeply and completely. I didn't know he could look like this. "Oh wow, honey," he says, and there's this almost ancient weariness in his voice.

"You know what I mean?" I say, just to check.

"Yeah. Yeah." My suspicions are pretty much confirmed at this point, so I don't get more specific. He stares off into spaces for a moment, then says, "Have you even had sex yet?"

"No," I say shortly, hating myself for blushing.

"God." Another pause. "Well, do you want to?"

"What?"

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, he crawls over to me and kisses me, just for a second. His lips are soft, faintly tasting of sugar. "Well?" he breathes, an inch away from my mouth.

"I'm…" I think I should be shaking my head, but I almost want to say yes. Either I have my first time with him or it'll be with someone I know even less and will probably hate. It's got to happen at some point. At least it could be with Finnick Odair. "Okay."

He leans back in again. While kissing Cato was perfect, kissing Finnick is electric. He knows exactly what he's doing, with an expertise born of experience. I just kind of go along with it, since I don't have a lot of practice with this. And then he pulls me to my feet, wraps his arms around my waist, and carries me into the elevator.

I'm not sure how we get there; everything's slightly out of focus, either from my nerves or from whatever was in that thermos. All I can focus on is his mouth, his hands, which slide down and lift me so my legs are wrapped around him and he's supporting my full weight. Almost every part of my body is touching some part of his, and it's exhilarating, like falling off of something very high with my eyes closed, but they're open so I can see those eyes.

I guess Haymitch isn't there, because we make it into my bedroom without being interrupted. At least, I think it's without interruption, but I'm not sure I'd notice. I'm so caught up in the feeling of his lips on mine, his arms around me, strong in a reassuring way. I can barely think straight, but the thought that does get through is that Finnick Odair is exactly as good as everyone says he is.

He lays me down on the bed gently, then throws one leg over me, leans down and kisses me again while he's propped up on all fours, hands on the bed on either side of my head. And then he moves down, kissing his way from my lips to my collarbone and leaving trails of shivery cold fire on my skin wherever he's been.

Somewhere in the process, he loses his shirt – or maybe he was never wearing one, I can't remember, and even stranger is that it doesn't bother me. He's about to continue lower when I stop him. "Wait," I say, pulling his head up to mine again. He looks at me blankly, so completely empty in that moment that it scares me, straight out of this weird haze and back into something closer to reality. I still let him kiss me, though, because he's good at it and also because I don't really think there's a better option right now. It'll be better with him, even if this is starting to feel weird and wrong.

I let him take my shirt off, too, and I have to admit that it isn't completely and totally uncomfortable to feel the bare skin of his chest against mine. I can feel his heartbeat. I can hear every breath he takes. For the first time, I think about how intimate and wonderful this could be with someone I love, how this might one day be exactly what I want from someone. How that someone should be Cato.

Finnick has pulled back a little. This close, he can sense something's wrong. "What is it?" he says.

I can't answer right away, momentarily tongue-tied, so instead I push him away. I'm cold without him on top of me, so I reach for my shirt and hold it over my chest. "This isn't right," I finally say. "I can't."

"None of this is right. And you're gonna have to eventually," he says flatly, but he doesn't move towards me.

"But you know what I'm talking about, right?" I press, sitting up. "It's just… weird."

He sighs, flops down onto the bed face-first. "Yeah," he says, turning his head to the side and looking at me. "But I thought that's what you wanted."

"Me too."

"Why is it that you're eight years younger, but…" He doesn't finish that sentence. Instead, he moves over to me and hugs me. A hug from Finnick is very different – different than I expect, different than any other I've had. Somehow, it's closer than we were a minute ago, more personal, and just better. I like it. This is what he and I should be like.

"I want you to be on my team," I admit quietly. "And I'm not going to be able to kill you."

"Princess, if you think I'd ever be able to kill you after what didn't just happen, then you're crazy," he says, a smile in his voice. And then, so fast I feel like I got emotional whiplash, his tone changes. "But now you're just going to have to do it with someone you don't know. There's no backing out of that."

"How do you know?" I retort defensively before I can even think.

"Take a wild guess," he says, letting go of me and snagging his shirt off the floor. "Actually," he continues before I can talk, pulling the shirt over his head, "I'd rather you didn't. Then I can pretend you don't know."

"Don't know what?" I try to play innocent.

"Oh. No." He points at me sternly. "I can tell you know. Don't try that. Don't patronize me. I'm not vain enough to want that." He goes to the window and stands there, practically looking like a painting even without even trying. "So what do you think?"

While his back is turned, I slip my shirt back on. "What do you mean?"

"About me. Considering what you know now."

"Well, I kind of assumed it for a while. Ever since I found out that kind of thing happens."

"And when was that?" he says, still not looking at me.

"About six months ago. I mean, I didn't think about it a lot or anything, but it just seemed… likely," I say, trying to be tactful.

"Likely why? Because of the number of them? Did that give it away?"

"I guess, yeah. And you never seemed to be in love with any of them. You didn't even look like you liked them a lot of the time. Which I guess could be just how you are, but I don't think it is." I scoot back so I'm sitting against the headboard, and then I just watch him. Every part of him is long, his arms and legs defined with lean muscles. He's the perfect golden tan to make him look like he's glowing. "You never got any alterations?" I ask.

"Alterations?" he says, looking at me quizzically over his shoulder.

"Like skin color changes or… I don't know, something to make you permanently gorgeous. Are those your eyes?" I say, only mostly joking.

He looks relieved. "Oh. No. Nothing, although it took a good five years to convince them I like the way I am, without any tattoos or colored hair." He comes to sit on my bed again, just on the edge, though. "Best idea I heard was to dye my hair to match my eyes."

"That's pretty interesting," I nod.

"You know what's also interesting? That you didn't answer my question. What do you think of me?" he says, looking deep into my eyes.

"I thought that was obvious. I like you," I say, but that's not enough for him. "I mean, I don't have a lot of anything to base my opinion on, but I think you're a good person. You're not like the other ones, either, like you said I wasn't. None of them even talked to me, except for Johanna, and she wanted to piss me off. And I think under all that flirty bullshit, you were trying to be nice to me."

"Flirty bullshit?" he smiles, and it's so infectious that I have to smile back.

"Yep. That's what it was. Can't you just talk to somebody without acting like you want to get with them? Like maybe at least with me, since we're not going to ever… ever." The awkward is back when I think about what I almost just did with him, and I'm mortified.

Of course, that makes his smile bigger. "Ever?" he teases, then says, "Alright. Fine. I'll just talk to you. If you're sure that's what you want."

"I am."

"Great," he says unenthusiastically. "Y'know, if Snow's looking for you, you should probably be somewhere unexpected. Not in your own bedroom."

"Do you have anything in mind?"

"I do, as a matter of fact. Would it be too flirty to invite you to my room?"

Apparently, when Finnick isn't flirting, he's an obnoxious tease. I'm not sure which version of him is worse. "No, it wouldn't be. Thank you for asking," I say with dignity.

"Anything for you, Princess." Before I can stand, he pulls me towards him and lifts me, setting me on the ground, like I wouldn't have been able to get up myself. That moment there is when I realize I was wrong before. He's not just obnoxious. He's more like a really beautiful older brother, the kind that wrestles you to the ground and then freaks out if you get a paper cut. The best kind.

This theory is confirmed in the elevator, where he puts his arms around me and pulls me back right up against him. He locks his hands firmly around my waist, but I don't feel trapped. I feel protected.

"You're gonna meet Lux," he says after a long silence. "He's fourteen."

"Does he have a chance?" I ask.

"Yeah. A damn good one." He sounds glum.

"And why is that bad?"

The doors open, and right away, I see Lux. His back is towards us as he watches Caesar Flickerman make his observations about each of us. Then he turns at the sound of the elevator, and I don't need any explanation from Finnick any more, because this child is beautiful; dark skin and hair that almost could let him pass for Seam, if it weren't for his eyes that are a dark purple-y blue. He's got a chance, alright, for the same reason Finnick did. If he makes it out, his fate will probably be the same, too.

"Hey," Pax says, surprised. "What's going on?"

"Katniss was irresistibly attracted to my charm," Finnick deadpans. "She begged to spend time with me."

Pax glances at me and I shake my head. "Okay then," he says. "Mags left a while ago. I think all the mentors went somewhere, but she wouldn't talk about it."

"Awesome," Finnick says, nonplussed. I follow him to the couch and sit next to him. After a minute, he puts his hand on my knee, just for a second. I get the feeling that he needs the physical contact. So although I push his hand off, I do lean into him and put my hand on _his_ leg. I don't protest when he takes it in his and interlaces our fingers, either, because maybe he's not the only one who needs comfort the night before the interviews, one of the last nights before the games.

The reporters on TV devote a segment to each victor starting at footage from the games and ending with last night. When Finnick's comes on, he shifts uncomfortably as pictures of him with dozens of different women flash onscreen. All I notice, though, is how empty he looks in each one. And then it's my turn to be uncomfortable as they detail Cato's and my relationship from the first kiss to our break up.

"You okay?" Finnick asks.

"I'll be fine."

A little while later, the elevator dings and the doors open. "Odair, do we have a deal or not?" Johanna says briskly, then stops talking, coming around the couch so we can see her. She's looking at me with narrowed eyes. "The hell are you doing here?"

"We're allies," Finnick says firmly.

"Really? Snow's number one target?" she says, but Finnick doesn't reply, giving her a stony-faced glare. "Well, that's your business I guess. Though you understand why our deal's off, in that case?"

"Yeah." Finnick half-shrugs.

"Wait. Finnick, you should pick her," I start to say. Even though I want him on my side, I want him to survive almost more than that.

He interrupts me. "Shut up. I told you what I'm going to do. I'm choosing you." Right. He said he couldn't kill me.

"Hey," Johanna says. "Siding with me doesn't mean you have to kill her, Odair. One of the first two districts should be able to take care of that. No offense," she adds, turning to me. "But I know him. I want him to live more than you."

"That's fine," I say.

"Well that doesn't matter because I've made up my mind," Finnick says shortly.

"Then good luck," Johanna says, looking at both of us. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Go ahead," Finnick shrugs, so she sits on the floor and watches the coverage with us.

She's only been here for maybe five minutes when the elevator doors open again, and I hear Sophia's voice. "Here she is," she says. I hear soft footsteps and then she vaults over the back of the couch and lands hard next to me. Johanna, Finnick, and I all tense up preemptively, but she just sits there, nervously friendly.

"Hi," I say after I've recovered form my initial surprise. "What's going on?"

Robin, Chaff, and the little girl from twelve all come around to in front of the couch, looking at us with a mix of apprehension, suspicion, and confusion. Sophia speaks for all of them. "I went up to twelve looking for you, but he-" She points at Robin. "-said you went somewhere with Finnick Odair. So we went down, but they-" She points at Chaff and the girl. "-got on to come up to look for you, so we brought them with us."

"And who are you?" I ask the little girl who looks so much like Rue.

"I'm Winnow. Rue was my cousin."

I suddenly want to hug her and never let go. "Oh. Hi," is all I say. "Hi Robin, and hi Chaff. Haymitch told me about you," I say, trying not to stare at the space where his other arm should be.

"Good. Can we talk?"

"Sure."

Chaff hesitates, and Johanna speaks up. "So you're going to side with her, too? Wow. Where's everybody's sense of self-preservation these days?" She raises her eyebrows and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "No offense, dude, but I think you misread the room. Everybody here is on her side. Except me, of course, and maybe that one." She points over at Sophia.

"No, I want to make an alliance with Katniss, too," Sophia says defiantly. "That's why I was looking for her."

"Well. I stand corrected." Johanna subsides into silence and turns her attention back to the television screen.

"You guys can sit down," Finnick says. "If you want." He's been uncharacteristically quiet during the whole conversation, pretending to not pay attention. But I saw the looks he gave everyone who came in. he was ready to attack if he had to.

All four of them decide to stay. Chaff wanders to the other room, and I can hear the clinking of a bottle. Winnow sits on the floor at my feet, giving Johanna a wary look. Sophia stays next to me, and Robin sits down next to her. So now there's eight of us in here, four victors and four new tributes, watching and listening to predictions about our deaths with varying levels of interest.

Even if I don't completely trust everyone here, it's much better than sitting alone in my room, trying to ward off thoughts of the two boys who were in that room with me last time. True, now I have to avoid thoughts about Sophia; if she was telling the truth, what she knows about Cato, if she'll end up killing me. Those are easier to handle, though. There's less crippling heartbreak involved. And somehow, I feel much more confident with Finnick right next to me, quiet, lovely and on my side.

I think for a few minutes while staring blankly at the screen, and discover I do trust him, completely and unreservedly. Maybe part of that is his charisma, but I think the much bigger part is everything that has happened in the past couple hours. I saw how quickly he agreed to stop once I said I was uncomfortable, how much my opinion of him mattered to him, how he instinctively moved to protect me.

Also, I'm pretty sure this irrational trust goes both ways. He never once asked if I was lying about loving Cato. He doesn't argue when Sophia officially asks to be my ally and I say yes. Maybe it's the leftover quila in our systems that's making us both so chill and trusting. The fuzziness wears off after a while, though, and I still believe him, his claims to be on my team and unable to kill me. As for Finnick, he stays right next to me all night, every muscle relaxed, perfectly at ease.

"Hey," I say to him softly after an hour or so. "Finnick."

He turns and looks at me expectantly. His expression catches me off-guard, because written plain on his face is affection, unadulterated by any distrust. It's unmistakable, and I can't talk for a second. "Yeah?" he says when I don't continue.

"Did you train for the games?" I ask.

"For a couple years, yeah."

"Did your parents put you in? Or…"

"No. My mother had me when she was sixteen and got reaped two years after that. She was killed in the bloodbath. They said she was too tired from taking care of me. Never knew my dad." He's talking quietly so no one else can hear, and he's being very matter-of-fact about the whole thing. "And in four, they either train volunteers or orphans."

"Did you want to?"

He shrugs. "It made sense. Me going let a kid with parents stay with them. We only worked for part of the day, anyways, and I got to be on the water the rest of the time." I don't immediately ask another question, so he says, "Why are you so interested in my story?"

"I don't know. It kind of seems like the Careers aren't all exactly what everyone thinks they are." That's the best way I can think of to put my thoughts into words. I guess on a deeper level, I want to find out exactly how much of _him_ is what I thought it was. I trust him, but I don't know him.

"I'd be willing to bet you're right," he says. "This whole country is buried in lies. That's why you were so dangerous. You showed everyone the truth, for just a second."

"That's the best explanation I've heard," I say, impressed. "How'd you figure that out?"

"I hear quite a few secrets where I go. After a couple years at it, I started to piece things together."

I have barely enough time to feel sick about where he's heard those secrets, because Sophia interrupts. "Katniss."

"One sec," I say to Finnick, then turn to her. "Yeah?"

"My brother told me not to talk to you. So don't talk to me later." She says it like a command, but it's a question.

I don't even have to think about my answer. And I don't want to have to imagine what Cato would do to her if he found out she was breaking the rules. "Of course," I say. "Don't worry about it. We'll keep you out of this until we're in there."

She does that almost-smile thing she so rarely lets herself show. "Thanks."

I turn back to Finnick. "So. You know some secrets."

"A few. You know whose secrets I'd kill to know, though?"

"You're gonna say mine," I sigh.

He is undeterred. "Yours. You're a complete mystery."

"You're one to talk, Mister Enigma."

He smiles at that, scooting a few inches on the couch to lean into me more. "We could trade. Trade secrets," he clarifies.

"I'll think about it."

"Good as I'll get, I guess."

He falls silent after that again as we watch the animated version of a fight between Gloss, from district one, and Cato. Cato dies, and I feel Sophia shrink back against the couch. As much as she's trained to be heartless, wanted it with everything in her, I don't think she can do it. Not quite yet. Maybe if she had a few more years to be brainwashed. I don't offer her any kind of comfort, though, because she's not that soft yet.

Finnick's hand goes limp in mine about an hour later, and when I look over at him, he's dozing, looking very peaceful. He doesn't seem to have a care in the world, which only makes him somehow more beautiful.

I kind of take advantage of him, I guess, in the most innocent way he's probably ever been taken advantage of. I play with his hand, then one that I'm holding. Even his hands are perfect, slender and long-fingered, and flawlessly tan, like the rest of him. I spread out his fingers, curl them back up and cradle his hand in both of mine.

Firmly, I tell myself to stop. It's creepy to do this while he's sleeping, on the first day that I met him. I should definitely stop. But I don't. I've never been a very good listener, especially to myself. I end up kind of massaging his palm, feeling the tendons and bones in his hand. It ends up being a surprisingly intimate thing, but I can't make myself stop again. I miss this feeling of being so close to someone, the way I used to be with Cato. That's what's going on here.

At around midnight, the elevator doors open and I catch a snippet of conversation. "-so I'll tell them that…" Mags' voice trails off when she sees the room full of people. "Hold on. I think they're all here."

"Hi, Mags," Pax says sleepily.

"Who's all here?" she asks.

"12, 11, half of 7 and 2," he says.

"Haymitch?" I say over my shoulder, seeing if he's there.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" he answers gruffly.

"You gonna make me leave now?"

"No. You're an adult. But you're coming up with me, kiddo," he says to Robin. "You want to look good for your first interview. That goes for all of you." He walks over and starts to pull the littler kids to their feet and shove them towards the door. "Bed," he says firmly to Sophia. "Don't forget to lie about where you were."

"I'm gonna be taking off, too," Johanna says, hoisting herself to her feet. She gives Haymitch a firm handshake on her way out. "See you all tomorrow."

"You coming up tonight?" Haymitch asks me, his tone and face carefully free of judgment.

"Probably later," I say. "But not right now."

"Okay."

He leaves after that, taking most of everyone with him. I hear he and Chaff start to whisper to each other as the doors close. And then it's just Lux, Mags, Finnick and me left. Mags escorts Pax back to his bedroom, then comes back. She looks very motherly as she goes around the room picking up things. Then she stops and just looks at us.

"What is it?" I say when it's gotten too awkward to ignore. "You want me to go?"

"Oh, no. Has he been asleep for long?" she asks.

"Yeah, more than an hour, I'm pretty sure. Why?" I ask when she looks surprised.

I'm not sure if she'll answer me at first, but then she does. "Well, it's just that I've never seen him sleep around anyone else."

"Really?" I say skeptically.

Mags gives me a look. "Just because he slept with half the Capitol doesn't mean he slept around them," she says.

Instantly, I feel guilty, because even if I didn't think exactly that, it was close. "Oh," I say faintly. "That's… so then why is he sleeping now?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Goodnight." She leaves the room. Now it's just me and Finnick, sitting here on the couch, which is infinitely more awkward because I know he usually wouldn't do this.

I really want to wake him up, to ask what he's doing and why, but I'm not that mean. So I stay next to him and keep playing with his hand. I'm so tired, but I don't want to fall asleep, not until I find out why he's sleeping here. Is it because he trusts me, or is it because he's just super tired? I really need to know the answer.

But eventually, it's really, really late, and I need to get some kind of sleep before our interviews. I still can't bring myself to wake him up, though, so I close my eyes and let myself fall asleep. He's so comfortable to sleep on. I have a half-formed thought about how his perfection seems to carry over to every aspect of him, and then I sleep.

As usual, I have a nightmare around two in the morning and wake up, Cato's name on my lips. I can't really think straight, but I get a vague impression of what's going on around me. Mags and Pax both come out to see what the problem is but Finnick convinces them to go back to their rooms. Then he sits next to me, leaving my head somewhere in the crook of his elbow where it slipped down to and our hands connected. He doesn't try to speak or comfort me. He just stays here.

As soon as I get ahold of myself, I pull myself mostly upright. "Sorry about that. I wasn't thinking when I fell asleep," I say, then clear my throat. "I'll go."

"You don't have to."

It only takes those four words to convince me not to move. "And sorry I woke you up," I say. "Mags said you don't usually sleep… around other people, so that was-"

"Mags has a big mouth," he says, his fake annoyed tone not hiding his affection for her. "I can sleep whenever."

"Just not around whoever?"

"How are you joking straight out of a nightmare?" he asks, smiling.

"Don't avoid the question."

"Yeah, well. I was counting on you being a little less conscious." I don't say anything, so he continues. "Alright. So I don't usually sleep around other people. Usually not."

"Is there any specific reason for that?" I ask, sitting up straighter but still leaning against him. Distracting myself with other people's problems is the best way to forget mine.

"Yeah, there is," he says, and leaves it at that. "You dream about him?"

"Almost every night."

"I'm sorry." He loops his arm around me, not letting go of my hand.

"Thanks." I let myself nudge into his warm side, enjoy the comfort of him just being here with me. "You can go back to sleep," I say. "Just because I'm awake doesn't mean you have to be."

"Nah, it's okay."

Damn. If he's awake, I can't silently cry or wallow in self-pity. Naturally, I end up doing just that, doing my best to wipe off my tears on my shirt before he notices. Since I'm like three inches away from him, though, he notices. "You've gotta get this under control before you get in there," he says gently.

"I'll try to do that," I sniffle. After a few more minutes of silence and him just sitting next to me, I say impulsively, "You can't kill him either."

"What?"

"You can't. I couldn't… I know it's selfish of me to ask, but you can't. I'm not saying let him hurt you, but don't…"

"Kill him," he finishes for me, and then he's silent for a very long time.

I know what I'm asking is a huge thing, but I couldn't take it if he did. I wouldn't survive that. He'll probably say no, and I'll need to figure out how to handle that. I start to think about it, but then he speaks.

"I guess I can understand that." Another silence. "You really love him."

"Yeah." I'm ashamed to admit that, because I shouldn't anymore. I should move on. He certainly has, and my survival might depend on it.

Finnick could point out all these things – he probably _should_, considering what I'm asking of him, but he doesn't. He just asks, "Before Snow got involved, did he love you like that?"

"I think-"

"Yes or no. Make the call."

"Yes."

"Damn it." I don't know what he means by that, so I wait. "Okay," he finally sighs. "Not him."

"Thank you." The words sound hollow, even to myself – what good will thanks do if he loses because of this? – but that's all I have to give him.

"Don't mention it. Especially in the arena."

I'm staying quiet, mostly out of shame, but Finnick is remarkably chipper, especially for someone operating on less than four hours of sleep. I'm beginning to think that however long I know him, I'm still going to be impressed and just a little awestruck by most things he does.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

No use lying. "You."

"And you say _I'm_ the flirty one. What was I wearing?"

"Clothes."

He laughs. "Of course I was." Then he gets a little more serious. "So what were you thinking about me, then?"

"I'm not sure. I can't figure you out."

"I am a man of mystery," he agrees.

"No, not that. You. There's a piece missing."

"Sleep," he suggests.

He doesn't want to tell me, so I drop it. "Probably. Sure. I should go back up to my rooms. It wouldn't be good for them to wake up without me there. Bad example."

"Don't feel like you have to. I don't have anything else going on." He hesitates, then adds the two words hovering between us. "For once."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I want you to do whatever the hell you want."

I want to stay here, with him, and pretend everything will somehow turn out alright. I want to believe there's a way for all of us to be safe – everyone I know, or maybe even everyone in the games, even the ones who want me dead. I don't want anyone to die like that. I don't want to kill again.

But I really _should_ go. "Haymitch wanted to tell me something. Probably that he talked about us at that meeting they were at."

"Undoubtedly. We know how to make an impression."

"You do. I didn't do a thing."

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't argue. "See you backstage."

I stand up. "Thanks. For everything tonight. And this morning, I guess."

"My pleasure." He watches me walk towards the door, leaning over the back of the couch. "This isn't flattery. I don't want anything. But no matter how much sleep you get, you're going to be the girl up there that everyone's looking at."

"You don't know that," I say, shifting uncomfortably.

"I know beauty," he says simply.

"Well, thanks. But there's a lot of beautiful victors."

"Yeah. But there's pretty and then there's you."

"Normal?"

He shakes his head. "Kind of wild. I'll bet that's why the Capitol wants you so bad."

"Why's that?" I ask, curious but dreading the answer.

"Because you belong to yourself. Cato has a piece of you. Maybe some other people do, too. But you're a girl who doesn't need anyone else. So they need you. They always want what they can't have."

"I need a lot of people, though."

"Okay. But I know them. And that's what they think." He's been politely cool, but now he smiles, warm again. "Sorry. You shouldn't have to know that. Somebody around here should stay innocent."

"I think it's too late for that."

"Not by a long shot." He closes his eyes and presses on them hard with his fingers. "Go. Before I say something else insensitive and weird accidentally and your perfect image of me is completely shattered."

"Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think you're perfect." It's so easy to joke with him.

"Damn." He keeps his eyes shut.

"But I still like you."

"Such a relief."

I nod, forgetting that he can't see me. "Okay. Bye."

He's silent until I'm in the elevator and the doors are closing. Then, barely in time, he says loudly, "I like you, too, princess."

So I'm smiling like an idiot when I get off the elevator on my floor, and that gets really embarrassing when I see that Effie's waiting for me. I've managed to successfully avoid her so far, but now I have to pretend to listen as she scolds me. It takes me a little longer than it should to realize she's telling me I'm late for my stylists. "Wait," I interrupt. "The interviews aren't until later today. I've got plenty of time."

"The interviews are in a few hours. Haven't you been listening?" she squeaks indignantly. "While you were training until all hours-"

"I wasn't training," I interrupt, letting her push me back in the elevator.

"Then where were you, dressed like that?"

"I spent the night with Finnick Odair," I inform her.

Effie stops speaking and stares at me, turning a furious shade of scarlet. Before she has a chance to do anything more, the doors open and Mags, Lux, Finnick, and their guide get on. Finnick takes one look at my slightly smug expression and Effie's shocked one. Then he comes and stands next to me. "Hey, darling," he says, slipping his arm around my waist. "Like I said before – _great_ night. And your hair is wonderful."

I almost ruin our little act right there by frowning and demanding to know what exactly he thinks is so wonderful about my braid coming apart into a mess of frizz. But I narrowly stop myself. "Thanks."

Pax jumps in. "Y'know, you could've been more considerate while I was trying to sleep. I have an interview to look good for today," he says, sounding convincingly annoyed with me, but his deep blue eyes are sparkling.

"Sorry," Finnick shrugs. "You can't contain some things."

Now I do glare at him. "Right," I say sarcastically.

But my reaction doesn't matter. Effie's got a bizarre expression on her face; she's either about to throw up or scream, maybe faint. Mags has adopted a stern countenance to disguise her amusement, because their guide looks exactly the same way.

Finnick keeps his arm around me and walks me to my style station. "Good luck," he says, his voice practically a purr. "Not that you'll need it." In front of everyone, he kisses me on the lips, gently, so soft I almost think he reconsiders mid-kiss. And then he saunters away.

I am furious. He promised he'd stop the flirting and then he goes and does _that_, which is ten million times worse. I scowl fiercely as my stylist team begins to frantically work on me, asking a hundred questions about Finnick, me and Finnick, how I expected them to do their job with so little time. As usual, I ignore them.

"Haymitch, why are the interviews at a different time?" I ask, trying to focus.

He wanders over, slightly tipsy. "Supposedly, they're trying out a new schedule. But I'm pretty sure they're screwing with you. Stop glaring. Worst interview face ever."

"But-"

Haymitch leans in. "Personal issues aside, that boy knows exactly what he's doing. He made you desirable again. Without Cato, you're gonna need that boost. Just think for a second before you get all indignant. Think about what he just did. For you."

He's right, of course, as usual. "I'll thank him later," I wrinkle my nose.

"Do that. Also, in your interview, don't do the normal stuff."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Watch the twenty-two interviews before yours and try to figure it out," he says mischievously, and just walks away.

They put my hair in an elaborate fishtail braid down to one side, like my normal hairstyle, except more smooth and intricate. Also, they weave in metallic strands with my own hair. I almost think it's gold thread, but the color shimmers and changes like flames. My dress is short, with an almost ragged hemline at my mid-thigh. I'm very grateful for the opaque leggings underneath. Both the dress and leggings glimmer like the thread. The overall effect is almost like a mirage, heat waves rising off of me. I'm about to catch on fire, but I'm contained. I'm dangerous, on the edge.

Once I'm ready to go onstage, I give Cinna a hug. "It's beautiful," I say.

He smiles. "A finishing touch," he says, and he pins on the mockingjay Madge gave me. After I won, mockingjay decoration on a variety of things became popular, so I figure he's trying to take advantage of that.

Peacekeepers escort me backstage, where I see that every tribute has a pair of them, one on either side. I guess they're not taking any chances. We're going in order this time, and there's no way out of that. Apparently, Snow didn't consider we'd think of a different way to rebel.

Watching the first interview makes me really confused, before I figure out what they're doing. When Caesar Flickerman asks those Careers if they're prepared

, they respond vaguely, guardedly. "Of course I'm ready," the tall girl says. "But I don't have a chance against the more experienced victors. This game isn't fair. It isn't anyone's game."

Then it's Gloss's turn. He won the games the year after his sister did – both careers, both favorites from the start. "Lux has a good point," he says coolly. "And I'm all for bringing honor to my district. My sister and I have proved that. But isn't there another way?"

Only Cato doesn't say revolutionary things in his interview. The victor from three discusses the logistics of the games – something about running out of room for new arenas and drained resources. Finnick plays the crowd, conning them into sympathizing. "Can you imagine my horror upon learning I may never again see the sunrise, hear the waves, see the face of a girl I love next to me?" he says dramatically. The crowd sighs.

"Then why did you volunteer?" Caesar asks.

Finnick only hesitates for a second. "I know someone who loves that girl. A close friend. I couldn't let him lose her." And with that with comment, everyone was rooting for him.

Pax charms the audience, talking about his little sister in great detail, how much he'll miss her. The other tributes have heartbreaking stories like that, or questions for Caesar and the audience. Johanna's is the most indignant. "I mean, how many times do we have to win to be safe?" she demands. "We played the game. Let us be."

It's getting close to my turn and I have no idea what to say. Furiously, I curse Haymitch and his stupid faith in my ability to make it up as I go along. I've never been good at that. He should know that.

Winnow is talking about her cousin and Chaff is ready to go on next when Peacekeepers pull him aside and speak sternly to him. Chaff shrugs them off, waving his hand at them. The, as he's going on and Winnow's coming off, those same Peacekeepers come to me.

"President Snow orders this foolish display of childish behavior to cease," one says. "He would like the interviews to end on a pleasant note."

"That's nice," I shrug.

A man dressed entirely in purple walks up. "Please stop contaminating the interviewee," he says firmly.

"President Snow-"

"We have an arrangement with him, which he'd do good to remember. No meddling in the interview process. Full freedom for Caesar to do his work. We allowed the Peacekeepers backstage with the understanding no speaking would be allowed." He's surprisingly intimidating for a Capitol citizen, and the Peacekeepers seem confused. "Go," the purple man repeats, and they do.

"Thank you," I say to him.

"Thank Caesar," he says, and walks away.

We all should thank Caesar, not only because he was apparently protecting us from Snow's influence, but also because of how he's handling the interviews. It'd be very easy to make us all look like a bunch of psychotics, but he isn't doing that. The way he's listening and the questions he's asking all make it seem reasonable.

Finally, it's my turn. As I walk out onstage, trying to smile for the crowd, I still have absolutely no idea what I'm gonna say. I sit down next to Caesar, smooth down my dress, and send an extremely last-minute request to whatever's left of Peeta for his charm and quick wit. I notice Caesar's wearing a mockingjay pin, which I take as a good omen. And then it's time.

"So, Katniss. I must admit, I didn't expect to see you here again so soon. Not that it's a bad thing – you look lovely," Caesar begins. "Doesn't she?" he asks the audience. They applaud, and shout their approval.

"I didn't expect it either," I say. "I guess the odds weren't in my favor." A few laughs.

Caesar smiles. "I guess not. And tell me, what do you think about this year? Many of the other tributes have had very interesting opinions."

"I think these games were created to scare people. To make families terrified of losing their children as punishment for existing. Two children from every district, every year isn't much, but it adds up. Thousands of children have died, and for no apparent reason."

"Isn't the official reason to remind the districts of their mistakes?" Caesar asks, innocent.

"Yeah, but look at the Capitol. Children from here are never chosen, but the people don't revolt." I pause. "If the people in the districts were treated a tenth as well as people here, if our children were safe, we'd be happy too." I shrug, like the thought was offhand. "Just something to consider something, I guess."

Caesar nods. "So if you could sum up your message tonight, what would you say?"

"I'd say this isn't right. We don't approve. And fear can only rule for so long."

I am ushered off the stage to uncomfortable applause. The faces in the crowd that I see are confused, a few thoughtful, and only Cinna's is proud. Haymitch is waiting for me backstage. "Did Caesar have a mockingjay pin on, or was it just me?" he says without preamble.

"No, he had one." I say. "So how did I do?"

Haymitch waves one hand dismissively. "Fine. How many arrows was the bird holding?"

My instinct is to say one – mine only has one, right? But if I think about it, that's not right. "Three," I frown. "Why?"

"No reason." Again, he just walks away, which I hope will stop but suspect won't. Annoyed, I glance down at my own pin to make sure I'm not completely insane.

My pin has three arrows now. I'm positive it didn't before, and when I look closer, two of the arrows are a slightly different color. But that means someone changed it and didn't tell me, which could be much worse. I resolve to ask Haymitch – no, _demand_ an answer about what's going on, why we're so blatantly defying Snow. Really, it just seems stupid.

Although. I guess we really don't have a lot to lose. What can he do to this? We're already going to die.

The answer to that hits me almost immediately. He can make the games worse. He could kill everyone we love before we die. He could do an infinite number of terrible things.

Haymitch better have a really damn good reason.


End file.
